“Trying to. But that’s what being in the test group is about. They monitor this stuff, try to deal with side effects.”
“Right. When Maddie told me, I was kind of surprised. Last time we talked, you said you were just going to let nature take its course.”
“I sort of changed my mind.”
“Maddie?”
“Yeah, pretty much. Anyway...”
Bosch leaned forward and picked up his cup. The coffee was still too hot to drink, especially with his ravaged throat, but he wanted to stop talking about his medical situation. Ballard was one of the few people he had told about it, so he felt she deserved an update, but his practice had been not to dwell on the situation and the various possibilities for his future.
“So tell me about Haller,” Ballard said. “How’s that going?”
“Uh, it’s going,” Bosch said. “Staying pretty busy with the stuff coming in.”
“And now you’re driving him?”
“Not always, but it gives us time to talk through the requests. They keep coming, you know?”
The year before, when Bosch worked as a volunteer with Ballard in the Open-Unsolved Unit, they broke open a case that identified a serial killer who had operated unknown in the city for several years. During the investigation, they’d also determined that the killer was responsible for a murder for which an innocent man named Jorge Ochoa had been imprisoned. When politics in the district attorney’s office prevented immediate action to free Ochoa, Ballard tipped Haller to the case. Haller went to work and in a highly publicized habeas hearing was granted a court order freeing Ochoa and declaring him innocent. The media attention garnered by the case resulted in a flood of letters and collect phone calls to Haller from inmates in prisons across California, Arizona, and Nevada. All of them professed their innocence and pleaded for his help. Haller set up what amounted to an in-house innocence project and installed Bosch to do the initial review of the claims. Haller wanted a gatekeeper with an experienced detective’s eye.
“These two names you wanted me to run — you think they’re innocent?” Ballard asked.
“It’s too early for that,” Bosch said. “All I have are their letters from prison. But since I started this, I’ve rejected everything except these two. Something about them tells me I should at least take a further look.”
“So based on a hunch, you’re going to run with them.”
“More than a hunch, I think. Their letters seem... desperate in a certain way. Hard to explain. I don’t mean like desperate to get out of prison but desperate... to be believed, if that makes sense. I just need to take a look at the cases. Maybe then I find their bullshit.”
Ballard pulled her phone out of her back pocket.
“What are the names?” she asked.
“No, I don’t want you to do anything,” Bosch said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Just give me the names. I’m not going to do anything right now with Colleen in the pod. I’m just going to send myself an email with the names. It’ll remind me to get back to you if I get something.”
“Colleen. She’s still sticking her nose into everything?”
“Not so much, but I don’t want her to know anything about this.”
“You sure? Maybe she can just get a feeling or a vibe and tell me whether they’re guilty or not. Save both of us a lot of time.”
“Harry, give it a rest, would you?”
“Sorry. Had to.”
“She does good work on the IGG stuff. That’s all I care about. It makes it worth putting up with her ‘vibes’ in the long run.”
“I’m sure.”
“I have to get back to the pod. Are you going to give me the names?”
“Lucinda Sanz. She’s in Chino. And Edward Dale Coldwell. He’s at Corcoran.”
“Caldwell?”
“No, Cold — Coldwell.”
She was typing with her thumbs on her phone. “DOBs?”
“They didn’t think to add those in their letters. I have inmate numbers if that helps.”
“Not really.”
She slid her phone back into her pocket.
“Okay, if I get anything, I’ll call you.”
“Thanks.”
“But let’s not make it a habit, okay?”
“It won’t be.”
Ballard took her coffee and headed toward the door. Bosch stopped her with a question.
“So who’s gunning for you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Downstairs you said there are people gunning for you.”
“Oh, just the usual shit. People hoping I’ll fail. Your everyday woman-in-charge stuff.”
“Well, fuck them.”
“Yeah, fuck them. I’ll see you, Harry.”
“See you.”
3
Bosch was already back on La Cienega by the courthouse when Haller texted that he was finished with the sentencing hearing. Bosch texted that he’d be out front. He pulled the Navigator up to the glass exit doors just as Haller was coming through. Bosch hit the button to unlock the doors, and Haller opened the back and jumped into the seat. He closed the door but Bosch didn’t move the SUV, just stared at him in the rearview.
Haller settled in and then realized they weren’t moving.
“Okay, Harry, we can—”
He realized his mistake, opened the door, and got out. The front door opened and he climbed into the passenger seat.
“Sorry,” he said. “Force of habit.”
They had a deal. On the occasions that Bosch drove the Lincoln, he insisted that Haller ride in the front seat so that they could converse side by side. Bosch had been adamant: he would not play chauffeur to a defense lawyer, even if that attorney happened to be his half brother who had hired him so that he could get private health insurance and be in the clinical trial at UCLA.
Satisfied he had made a proper stand, Bosch pulled away from the curb and said, “Where to?”
“West Hollywood,” Haller said. “Lorna’s apartment.”
Bosch moved into the left lane so he could make a U-turn and head north. He had already driven Haller to many meetings with Lorna, either at her place or at Hugo’s up the street if food was involved. Since the so-called Lincoln Lawyer worked out of his car instead of an office, Lorna managed things from her condo on Kings Road. It was the center of the practice.
“How’d things go back there?” Bosch asked.
“Uh, let’s just say that my client received the full measure of the law,” Haller said.
“Sorry to hear it.”
“The judge was an asshole. I don’t think he even read the PSR.”
It had been Bosch’s experience when he was a sworn officer that presentencing reports weren’t usually favorable to the offender, so he wasn’t sure why Haller thought a careful reading of the PSR by the judge in this case could have resulted in a lesser sentence. Before he could ask about it, Haller reached forward to the center screen on the dashboard, pulled up the favorites list from his contacts, and placed a call to Jennifer Aronson, the associate in the firm of Michael Haller and Associates. The Bluetooth system brought the call up on the vehicle’s speakers and Bosch heard both sides of it.
“Mickey?”
“Where you at, Jen?”
“My house. Just got back from the city attorney’s office.”
“How’d that go?”
“Just round one, really. Bit of a game of chicken. Nobody wants to say a number first.”
Bosch knew that Haller had trusted Aronson with the Jorge Ochoa negotiation. Haller and Associates had filed a lawsuit against the city and the LAPD for his wrongful conviction and incarceration. Though the city and police department were protected by state-mandated limits to financial settlements in such matters, there were aspects of the poor and possibly corrupt handling of the case that allowed Ochoa to seek other financial penalties. The city hoped to head that off with a negotiated settlement.